


Talking On The Spectrum

by austinthegrouch



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Actually one line of dialogue, All characters other than Tim, Ambiguious Canon, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Based On IRL Events, Batman-sanctioned mental health care, Character study BUT NOT REALLY, Diagnosis, Flamebird/Batgirl became a psychologist, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Kon + Steph are good friends, Mental Health Issues, No Dialogue, Pre-New 52, Stream of Consciousness, Therapy, Tim Drake-centric, Unbeta'd, Weird Mix of Timelines, are minor, i lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austinthegrouch/pseuds/austinthegrouch
Summary: Tim sits outside the clinic, unable to process anything really. But that's probably the reaction of most people to an unexpected diagnosis, he thinks sourly.





	Talking On The Spectrum

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote for me to cope and not really for an audience. It's plotless, pointless, and doesn't give real insights into anyone's character or advocate some epic romance. But life doesn't either.

Tim sits outside the clinic, unable to process anything really. But that's probably the reaction of most people to an unexpected diagnosis, he thinks sourly.

It's Bruce's private therapist, Dr. Bette Kane, bribed and licensed. She's a former member of Teen Titans West who had a major obsession with Dick (Tim can relate) and worked with Batman way back in the day. She apparently decided to get certified (her doctorate is only slightly less shiny than Tim's newest wardrobe change) and move back home. B happened to need mental health support for his team. It was a match only possible in the bowels of Gotham. Hopefully she didn't end up being another Harley.

When things were finally worked out, the big man practically ordered everyone he knew to go.

He doesn't follow B's orders anymore, but it really does help (Steph dragged him there). Even if Dr. Kane is sometimes even more annoying than the brat.

He'd figured he was depressed and traumatised, but who wouldn't be with his job? Maybe even obsessive compulsive or borderline. Hell, he'd probably fit about half the DSM-V, bullshit though it was. 

But it hadn't turned out that way. Sure, they dealt with those issues, despite the fact he knew most CBT/DBT manuals by heart and it was mostly useless. He'd seen her look at him strangely sometimes out of the corner of her eye, as if evaluating something he didn't realise was there, but he'd ignored it. He'd heard her ask about specialised symptoms, symptoms he'd never mentioned yet seemed so accurate. 

His reputation as one of the greatest detectives of all time is clearly undeserved if he hadn't been able to tell what came next.

A few months into their sessions, she'd asked him if he'd ever considered if he was on the autistic spectrum. If he'd ever been tested. He hadn't. 

He'd been born right before it was commonplace, the lull before the diagnosis boom, his parents the type to ignore anything abnormal until too late. He'd learned everything months before everyone else, started talking before a year.

He told her all of it, toes twitching in his boots as always. Dr. Kane wrote it all down on her notepad. She looked at her lap instead of at him, something that always made Tim more comfortable, even though at this point he could tolerate being the center of attention. Had to.

"Would you like to?" He said yes before he could think it through, overthink it again and again until the idea became mush in his brain. It took two weeks before they could fit him in, before he could adjust his schedule, before he could face the results. Two weeks to frantically research everything he could find, including case study notes from Asperger himself, monitoring his every symptom. 

Sometimes, even money didn't stretch far enough to speed things along in a city like Gotham. Sometimes, he didn't want it to.

And after those two weeks, he'd driven himself to the testing center. He hadn't told most of his crew beforehand, didn't want to in case this was all for nothing. Kon and Steph knew and so did Alfred and Bruce. He'd needed character reports for this, as if he was an average nervous senior applying to his dream school. An opportunity he'd given up and never regretted.

They hadn't reacted badly. None of them had. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Certainly not screaming and outrage, but not outright acceptance either. 

Kon had been the latter. He hadn't actually known what autism was, other than as a locker room slur. Tim showed him, pulled up a list of symptoms on his admittedly cool display as Kon worked his way through a bag of chips. They watched descriptive YouTube videos together, both scientific and personal, Tim's head on his shoulder and legs wrapped together. He wasn't usually the one who initiated physical contact, but they both knew he needed it right now. Kon'd been doing his own research since then, even though Tim told him he didn't have to. He'd just laughed, and something in Tim settled for the first time since the issue'd been brought up.

Stephanie had just stared at him for a moment, not the most comfortable feeling he'd ever had. Then she quirked her eyebrows up and told him he was an asshole either way, autism or no autism, and pulled him into a hug. It lasted for an awkward second too long for exes, even amiable ones, but it was nice anyway. 

Bruce had probably already known. He told him regardless, over breakfast while everyone was away, Alfred in the next room. It was better to just knock them both out at once. He just nodded, asked if he needed any forms filled. He handed him the packet. B relaxed slightly and slumped his shoulders deliberately, an odd little attempt at reassurance. 

When he'd walked over to Alfred and offered him the other packet, he'd just smiled and handed him another slice of the quiche. 

But that was then. Now, he calls Kon, placing his new informational leaflets on the bench. He doesn't want to drive numb. He can pick up his car tomorrow.

His best friend arrives a few minutes later, looking worried as hell. He approaches him softly, so rare when it comes to Kon. 

"How'd it go?" He asks, more out of a need to comfort than a need for answers.

"It's official." And Tim doesn't cry but he has to, would if he wasn't so stubborn about controlling himself in public. Kon wraps him up in his arms and flies him home. 

He'll learn how to deal with being atypical, his old habits so different with a label. He'll tell people he trusts and some he doesn't (hello, Damien), spend days on it in therapy, readjust some parts of his life and ignore others. But for now he just feels broken. 

He's not. He'll accept it eventually.


End file.
